Cry
by Nyx6
Summary: They understand one another. It just works that way. Words aren't always necessary, it's the familiarity that helps when things aren't going your way. Short, reflective. Cry By James Blunt.


Her footsteps echoed loudly along the empty corridor, the heels of her boots clacking noisily against the cold, white floor. The lights buzzing over head seemed even louder than usual in the quiet of the empty office. Dark rooms flanked her on either side, shut up for the night.

The squad room was the same, shrouded in a velvetine cloak of blackness, a wide open office she knew like the back of her hand in the light of day but that seemed almost eerie and unknown without it. Except for one glass-walled room across from her, where a simple desk light threw out a warm yellow glow that lit up the surrounding area and showed a familiar form hunched over a file, casting periodic glances towards a white-board, propped beside the wall and covered in scribblings.

She couldn't help but smile weakly. Appreciating the familiarity the situation gave her, appreciating the instant comfort it provided.

She crossed the room slowly, navigating the dull silhouettes of various desks and chairs, finally pushing softy against the glass door and stepping into the light.

I have seen peace. I have seen pain,  
Resting on the shoulders of your name.  
Do you see the truth through all their lies?  
Do you see the world through troubled eyes?  
And if you want to talk about it anymore,  
Lie here on the floor and cry on my shoulder,  
I'm a friend.

Goren looked up from his work, clearly startled out of his deep reverie. As soon as he recognised her, his expression turned from puzzled to pleased, greeting her with his usual lop-sided grin and a look of genuine pleasure.

"Hi," he greeted shortly, softly, as if compelled to whisper by the darkness of the rest of the floor.

She returned the smile,

"Hi yourself," she replied, sitting down in the chair opposite him with a small sigh. Relieved to finally be somewhere where she could compose her thoughts and think without people constantly fussing around her or trying to offer comfort.

"I-I thought you weren't supposed to be back until tomorrow," Goren said, clearly slightly confused, but prepared to roll with whatever the cause for his partner's late night visit was.

She shrugged, moving to rub a hand across her weary brow and sighing again.

"I was, but…" she paused, "…I wasn't sure I could bear the excitement of throwing on my sweats and curling up in front of the TV with a tub of ice cream." She smiled thinly and his widened, realising her half-hearted attempt at humour needed the appropriate response.

He nodded, leaning forward to cup his chin in his hand as he watched her in sympathy. Her efforts to remain light-hearted not washing with him. She was hurting.

I have seen birth. I have seen death.  
Lived to see a lover's final breath.  
Do you see my guilt? Should I feel a fright?  
Is the fire of hesitation burning bright?  
And if you want to talk about it once again,  
On you I depend. I'll cry on your shoulder.  
You're a friend.

"How is she?" he asked softly.

Eames looked up at him, her eyes connecting with his. She was not someone who gave her emotions away easily, and if she did, it was usually anger that people got. She certainly didn't do 'emotional,' on a regular basis, that was something she kept for herself and the privacy of her own home. But with Goren it was different, he wasn't looking for a weakness, he didn't want to step in and lessen his own problems by trying to handle hers, he wasn't trying to get her to let down her guard, he was genuinely concerned.

"Oh," she tried for light-hearted once more, "You know my mom. When I left she was organising what everyone was going to wear for the funeral," she smiled at the thought, the stupidity of the situation striking a chord and making her half-laugh, "I've been sent off to buy a hat!"

Goren, seeing her genuine amusement, smiled back, picturing the same thing. Alex Eames definitely had her mother in her. She looked at him again, grateful. That was how she dealt with death, or, impending death, she threw out some flippant comments, a joke or two, that was her coping mechanism. No one else got that other than Goren. Her family didn't see it as a rational way of grieving and though she understood their concerns, she couldn't help how she reacted. Goren not only knew about it, but he expected it and took it as normal. If she was smiling, so was he.

But the smiles didn't last for long, and she let out another sigh, this one more shaky, and let her head fall into her hands.

Goren's face fell at her sudden change but he waited patiently for her to speak first.

You and I have lived through many things.  
I'll hold on to your heart.  
I wouldn't cry for anything,  
But don't go tearing your life apart.

"It's just so strange," She said suddenly. She looked up, shaking her head at the same time, "Just waiting around for her to…" she shook her head again, trying to fathom it all out and failing.

Goren took a deep breath,

"In our line of work, we see a lot of unjustified deaths, violent deaths, sudden deaths. I'm sure if each of those people were asked how they'd like to have breathed their last, they'd have chosen to make plans and slip away in the knowledge that those they love are holding their hand. Death is never easy, but it can be a lot harder."

She didn't look up at him, but nodded in response, blinking rapidly. He swallowed, hoping she wasn't crying. She'd never cried before and he wasn't sure just how he was supposed to handle it. After a second or two, she seemed to gather herself, and looked up almost cheerfully.

"So," she said with a deep breath, "What have I missed?"

He pushed the file towards her and watched her eyes flick over it. She was hurting, and in typical Eames style was hiding it away. Part of him wanted to wrap her in deep hug, no doubt that was what she needed, but if she didn't ask him for it, or give him a sign, he knew she wouldn't appreciate it. She didn't want to look weak, that was the way she worked. She was a police officer, weakness wasn't an option for her. She didn't allow it.

But it didn't mean he couldn't help her on other levels. He knew plenty of ways to show her he was there for her.

He looked up. Her eyes were scanning the file, but she wasn't really reading it, blinking rapidly, through both sadness and fatigue.

I have seen fear. I have seen faith.  
Seen the look of anger on your face.  
And if you want to talk about what will be,  
Come and sit with me, and cry on my shoulder,  
I'm a friend.

"Do you want to grab some coffee?" Goren asked suddenly.

She looked up. He was pulling his coat from the back of his chair, zipping shut his battered portfolio and reaching for the switch on the desk lamp.

She blinked, realising slowly that this was his way of caring for her, making sure she was feeling better. She liked the way he knew her so well, not over-crowding her already strained emotions, but allowing her the time to reach out to him. That was his gift.

She smiled,

"Best offer I've had all day."

He smiled back, turning off the light and plunging the surroundings into darkness. As she stood up from the chair he opened the door for her, letting her out into the dark office a head of him as he shut up. He followed her slowly, watching her skirting the clustered desks towards the bright corridor.

Eames wasn't black and white. Neither was he, that was what made them work. So she wasn't in his arms sobbing, but then that wasn't what she'd sought him out for. She needed the familiarity of their partnership, and the comfort of their routine. She was leaning on him, and the only ones that knew it were the two of them.

He smiled. So it would always be, not with words, but with understanding. He'd look to her for the support he needed, and she to him. It was more than a partnership, somewhere along the line it had turned into a silent longing for familiarity in two lives that gave anything but.

She turned to look at him, pausing in the light of the corridor to wait for him as he caught up, falling into step with him as he strode past.

She felt herself settle as they walked the corridor together contentedly and smiled softly. She knew she could count on him to give her what she needed.

Familiarity bred anything but contempt.

And if you want to talk about it anymore,  
Lie here on the floor and cry on my shoulder,  
Once again.  
Cry on my shoulder,  
I'm a friend.


End file.
